


Radiant: Divergent Rewritten

by f0rt1ss1m0



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Alternate Universe – Tori Does Not Tell Tris What Divergent Is Because That Just Makes More Sense, Divergent Rewrite, Fix-It If The Broke Part Is The Whole Book, Four says fuck, Genderbent Four, Multi, Polyamory, Tris is Bi and Poly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25554484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f0rt1ss1m0/pseuds/f0rt1ss1m0
Summary: I walked towards Peter again and waited for him to look up.“I asked you what you want,” I said. “You told me how you felt. That’s not an answer.”Kneeling down, Peter actually felt closer to my eye level than when he was standing. He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You don’t make anything easy, Stiff.”-I'm rewriting Divergent AGAIN, guys.
Relationships: Four | Tobias Eaton/Tris Prior, Peter Hayes/Tris Prior
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	Radiant: Divergent Rewritten

**Author's Note:**

> WHAT AM I DOING  
> STOP  
> STOP IT CERIC STOP YOU HAVENT EVEN FINISHED THE FIRST CHAPTER OF DISCORDANT YET
> 
> .........fuck
> 
> Well. Okay. So. Here's my excuse. I got really into Peter/Tris in the past couple months thanks to a private Divergent server and a few choice explicit fics, and I really just. Fuck, that's the whole excuse. This fic will be basically the same as canon (and as Transcendent) for the first few chapters, but it will earn its M rating, trust me. 
> 
> I haven't planned a single iota for this fic except for five things:  
> 1.) the Choosing age is 18 because no one knows fuck all when they're 16.  
> 2.) I'm going to make Dauntless initiation make real sense.  
> 3.) Four is a lesbian.  
> 4.) Tris is like 500x hornier.  
> 5.) I probably won't finish this. But if you want to read something that IS finished, I still have my magnum opus, Transcendent, whose sequel is currently on pause so that I can write Petris smut. 
> 
> you guys have sm patience with me i swear ;;

There was one mirror in my house. It was behind a sliding panel in the hallway upstairs. Our faction allowed us to open the panel on the second day of every third month, the day my mother cut my hair.

I sat on the stool and my mother stood behind me with the scissors, trimming. The curls fell on the floor in a dull red ring.

When she finished, she pulled my hair away from my face and gathered it into a small bun. Then, when the bun was in place, she took a cotton undercap and a long grey scarf from a hook on the wall and began to wrap them carefully around my head. Her fingers moved deliberately; her face was calm and focused. She was well-practiced in the art of losing herself.

I snuck a look at my reflection when she wasn’t paying attention, honestly, not for vanity—or so I told myself—just curiosity. A lot could happen to someone in three months. In the silver, I saw a dark face, round brown eyes, and a flat wide nose, features that didn’t seem to fit with the freckles or red hair now hidden under the scarf. I still looked like that strange little girl, though sometime in the past few months I turned eighteen. The other factions celebrated birthdays, but we didn’t. Birthdays were self-indulgent.

“There,” my mother said when she pinned the scarf in place. Her eyes caught mine in the mirror. It was too late to look away, but then she just smiled at our reflection. I didn’t understand why she hadn’t scolded me for staring at myself, though now, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. There was a sadness somewhere.

“So today is the day,” she said.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Are you nervous?”

I met my own eyes again. Today was the day of the aptitude test that would show me which of the five factions I belonged in. And tomorrow, at the Choosing Ceremony, I would decide on a faction; I would decide the rest of my life; I would decide to stay with my family or abandon them.

I echoed what I’d been told. “The tests don’t have to change our choices.”

“Right.” She smiled. “Let’s go eat breakfast.”

“Thank you. For cutting my hair.”

She kissed my cheek and slid the panel over the mirror. “I love you, sunshine,” she whispered. My mother could be beautiful, in a different world. Her body was thin beneath the grey dress and apron. She had the darkest skin of any woman I’d ever seen, and when she freed her hair of its bun at night, it framed her face like a cloud. But she had to hide that beauty in Abnegation.

We walked together to the kitchen. On those mornings when my brother made breakfast, and my father’s hand skimmed a fold of my scarf as he read his newspaper, and my mother hummed as she cleared the table—it was on those mornings that my stomach clenched in guilt for wanting to leave them.

* * *

The bus reeked of exhaust. The roads were peppered with holes that could swallow a smaller vehicle, but I could never predict when we would hit one, so I was challenged to maintain a death grip on the seat for the whole ride. Five years previously, volunteers from Abnegation led a force of workers to repave some of the roads, starting in the middle of the city and working their way outward until they ran out of materials. This bus line never really cared which roads were the good ones.

My brother, Caleb, stood in the bus aisle. The grey robe fell from his arm as he clutched a railing above his head. We were twins, though we never looked alike. I was the older by four minutes, but he seemed to age two years ahead. He had my father’s fairer skin and straight nose with my mother’s dark eyes and curly hair. When he was younger, that collection of features looked strange, but now he could pull it off. If he wasn’t Abnegation, the girls at school would’ve been all over him.

He was the spitting image of both of my parents’ selflessness. Without a second thought, he had offered his seat to an arrogant young Candor man.

The Candor man wore a black suit with a white silk tie—Candor standard uniform. Their faction valued truth, seeing justice as an illuminating light in the dark, so that was what they wore. What I had always found odd about them is how they could believe in justice and act so rudely. As he flicked through a sheaf of papers, the man spread his legs so wide I had to lean far against the window, pulling my cotton skirt with me.

I glimpsed Caleb behind the Candor man’s white hat. His eyes shifted constantly, watching the people around us—striving to see only them and to forget himself. Candor valued truth, but our faction, Abnegation, valued selflessness.

The gaps between the buildings narrowed and the roads grew smoother as we neared the heart of the city. The building we called the Hub—long ago called the Sears, or the Willis, or something like that—emerged from the fog, a flawless black pillar in the jagged skyline. The bus passed under the elevated tracks. I had never been on a train, though they never stopped running and there were tracks everywhere. Only the Dauntless rode them.

When the bus stopped in front of the school, I stood. I stumbled over the Candor man’s shoes as I left and grabbed Caleb’s arm. My skirt was too long, and I’d never been graceful.

The Upper Levels building was the oldest of the three main schools in the city: Lower Levels, Mid-Levels, and Upper Levels. Like all the other buildings around it, it was made of glass and steel. In the front was a large metal sculpture that the Dauntless climbed after school, daring each other to go higher and higher. There would be no climbing today, however, as the sculpture was draped in giant, multicolored banners. They read _APTITUDE TESTS TODAY_ in giant bubble letters.

“I think there’s aptitude tests today,” I told Caleb, hoping to crack the cold silence between us.

Normally, he liked it when I tried to joke with him, or at least, I assumed so. But he just nodded stiffly as we passed through the front doors. It did not take long to understand why. The atmosphere was electric, hungry, like every eighteen-year-old was trying to devour as much as they could get of their last day. We would not walk these halls again after the Choosing Ceremony—once we chose, our new factions would be responsible for finishing our education. My throat tightened as I swallowed.

Caleb and I stopped at our lockers, next to each other. But there was nothing to put in or take out; we had returned all of our books yesterday because we would have no classes today. When I saw the bare, dented floor of my locker, any last sliver of humor was doused like a candle in a bucket of water.

“Hey, Caleb?” I asked.

He was looking down, rifling through the last school item he managed to keep, a notebook. “What?”

“You aren’t worried, are you? About what you’ll get?”

He frowned. When he didn’t respond for a moment, I said, “Because if _you’re_ nervous, I have a lot more to be worried about.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

I had tried to read Caleb for years and I never could. I only hoped it worked the other way, too. I could have told him I could never guess what the aptitude test would tell me—Abnegation, Candor, Erudite, Amity, or Dauntless?

Instead I just grinned and said, “I’ll be fine. And so will you.”

He gave a pressed smile back. “Thanks, Beatrice.”

We parted ways, him to find his friends, and me to find mine. I wondered if this would be the last time I spoke to him before our lives were changed forever. I did not think I would ever know his answer to my question.

The hallways were cramped as usual; the dusty light through the windows created only a weak illusion of space. Underneath, kids in blue, red, grey, black, and white churned through the corridor. This was the last place where the factions mixed at our age. Today the whirlpool had a new energy, a last day mania.

An Amity girl shouted “Hey!” next to my ear, waving at a distant friend. Her transparent yellow shawl fluttered across my face. But before I could brush it away and continue walking, something _tugged_ against my head. Something else struck me between the shoulder blades. I stumbled and crashed to the ground, my headscarf unraveling around me.

The person who pulled my scarf was an Erudite boy in a blue sweater. “Out of my way, Stiff,” he snapped as he stormed down the hallway.

My cheeks burned. I fumbled with the folds of my scarf, making sure it was still hiding my fiery hair. A few people stopped when I fell, but none offered to help me, and my hand was almost crushed by walking feet as I reached for a fallen pin. When I got up, their eyes followed me to the edge of the hallway. This sort of thing had been happening to the others in my faction for months—Erudite writers had been releasing all sorts of propaganda in the newspapers about Abnegation, and it hadn’t made school any easier. The grey clothes, the scarf for my hair, and the reserved demeanor required by my faction were supposed to make it easier for me to forget myself, and easier for everyone else to forget me too. But now they made me a target.

When I reached the foyer, I sat in a corner window and waited for the Dauntless to arrive. I did this every morning. At exactly 7:25, the Dauntless proved their bravery by jumping from a moving train.

My father called the Dauntless “hellions”. They were pierced, tattooed, and black-clothed. They said their purpose was to keep order among the people, but everyone knew their only real job was to guard the fence surrounding our city. From what, I didn’t know.

They really did perplex me. I couldn’t help but wonder what courage—the virtue they valued most—had to do with a metal ring through your nostril. But still, my eyes clung to them wherever they went.

The train whistle blared, and the window vibrated against my forehead. The light fixed to the front of the train flickered on and off as the train hurtled past the school, squealing on iron rails. And as the last few cars passed, a flock of young men and women in dark plumage hurled themselves from the open cars, some dropping and rolling, others stumbling a few steps before regaining their balance. One of the boys wrapped his arms around a girl's shoulders, laughing. 

But watching them wouldn't get me anywhere. I turned away from the window and pressed through the crowd to the lunchroom, where I would await the beginning of a new life.


End file.
